


A Visitor in August

by lilacbombs



Category: Lupin III, モンキーパンチ漫画活動大写真 | Mankatsu (Anime)
Genre: (minor) - Freeform, Animal Death, Background Character Death, Background Relationships, Dialogue Heavy, Holiday, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, Obon, Past Lives, Visiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 19:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacbombs/pseuds/lilacbombs
Summary: It was Obon. The festival in which spirits return to the earthly realm to see loved ones and receive offerings from those closest to them– For the purple spirit of Goemon the first, however, it was very different. He felt himself grow irritated at every tourist or person who stepped up to view his altar. None of them were who he was waiting for.
Relationships: Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Jigen Daisuke, okita souji/yankee
Kudos: 13





	A Visitor in August

It was Obon. The festival in which spirits return to the earthly realm to see loved ones and receive offerings from those closest to them– For the spirit of Goemon the first, however, it was very different. He felt himself grow irritated at every tourist or person who stepped up to view his altar. None of them were who he was waiting for.

He was lucky enough, however, to encounter another spirit who had been wandering the forest. A blue one, that shone brightly was that of another samurai, long after him. He said he'd been wandering for some time and that his resting place was far away– but either way, they were glad to have each other's company.

As the day faded out, the two sat there long– in the ruins of an old shrine near the altar, eating offerings and watching the people that came. The purple spirit was kind enough to share whatever peaches or parts he had that he did not feel like eating.

It wasn't until twilight that the purple spirit saw who he was looking for.

"Who's that?" The blue spirit asked.  
"My great, great... many-great grandson."

The two spirits, both great samurai, sat near the shrine stones and watched the strange man before them. As if lost out of time, A lone samurai stood with his sword, alone before his ancestors' altar. He cleaned off the ash left by previous visitors and lit a new incense. Then he began tidying the altar, sweeping the dust and leaves that clouded the stone.

This devoted visitor was no other than Goemon Ishikawa XIII, who shared the same name as the one engraved in the stone, and with the purple spirit who watched over him.

"What a dedicated grandson. You must be very proud."  
The blue spirit was joyful, playful in his tone and appearance– even if neither could see the other, they could see the other's presence and shape in their head. He was a young man, having died young, but still commanded the same poise as any great warrior.  
"Though I guess you've seen many grandchildren at this point, huh?"

"I have." The purple spirit closed his eyes in reflection and thought of his relatives. Visitors both foreign and familiar had crowded his shrine during the day– but his grandson was always the last. In the dwindling twilight, there was no other soul save for those three.

When the samurai finished, he knelt before the altar and joined his hands in prayer. It was quiet, but the purple spirit heard it true.

_Please forgive me for any shame I may have brought to you._

The purple spirit rolled his eyes. Where his eyes should be. His grandson did this every single year, without fail.

"I don't mean to pry, but... what did he say?"  
"He prayed for forgiveness. I've never understood that boy."

Although he'd done nothing wrong, his successor carried a great weight on his heart. He rarely gave a clear reason, but it was usually something in the vein of "for not being strong enough" or "for the lives I've taken."  
But these were all normal things for a man like him to endure. Why did he insist on coming to his altar, if only to pity himself?

"Ah. The living always stew over every little thing, don't they?"  
The purple spirit laughed, softly.  
"If you knew how I died, you would hesitate to use such a word."

"What do you mean?" The blue spirit grew closer, trying to visualize him more. Then it hit him.

"Wait–! It couldn't be..."  
The blue spirit walked closer, trying to read the name on the gravestone. Despite standing a few feet away from the samurai, he gave no reaction– although he likely felt a sudden chill.  
On reading it, the blue spirit gasped and trodded back to where they sat before. Although he couldn't see it, the purple spirit knew the blue one was prostrating himself.

"Lord Ishikawa, Forgive me for speaking in such a way! If I had known..."  
Goemon laughed again and tried to set the blue spirit at ease.  
"It's alright. We have both lived many lives, haven't we? I'm no longer Goemon Ishikawa."

He had lived many lives until then. Before this August, he was a deer in Nara. Before that, he spent his life as a young woman in India. He had seen many lives and returned every August to see his relatives. Some spirits didn't like the idea of samsara– of living other lives. But after dying so young he relished getting to see spring whenever he could.  
"He" was also a relative term. Ishikawa Goemon the first was a spirit, and a spirit was neither man nor woman, neither tree nor seed.  
He simply was.

"I have not, actually. I have spent all this time in the afterlife. You're the first spirit I've seen here."  
"Then what should I call you, spirit?"

"Sōji Okita. I wasn't a samurai in your time, but..."  
"Well goodness, man! You act as if you're just some traveling soul."  
"You know of me?"  
"Are you joking? Sōji Okita– Crafter of the Mumyo-ken, one of the greatest swordsmen of the Shinsengumi?"

Okita, who before seemed like nothing more than a small blue flame, now shown to him more clearly. He was young, with a large ponytail and white-and-blue hakama. At his side, he carried two katanas.  
"I'm surprised you treat me with such reverence... You know I was a thief, right? I was executed."

Okita chuckled and grinned, although neither could see it. He thought to ask how it was possible Such an old spirit knew who he was, but he didn't wish to offend him more than he already had.  
"True, but you are a legend. You faced your death with grace and honor– something so few men do."

Embarrassed by the flattery, Goemon the first turned and looked away,  
to his successor.

The lone samurai, the recent Goemon, had finished his meditation and looked up once more, at the altar before him. He thought he was alone, but the spirits watched his every move like voyeurs. But what else had they better to do?  
Then suddenly, Goemon XIII began to cry. With his scrunched face lowered, Tears began to fall from his face. Beside his repressed cries and inhalations, the forest grew silent, bearing witness to the whole thing.

"Poor guy... What's he so torn up about?" The blue spirit muttered, leaning against the side of the shrine.  
Goemon the first sighed.  
"Many things. I pity the fool. It's been so long and yet..." He trailed off.  
"I don't know if I should speak of it with you so plainly."

"I'm sorry, it sounds serious..."  
"No, no... not really. It's just that..."

Okita knelt beside Goemon the first, trying to be as formal as possible.  
Even if they did not know each other, he hoped to alleviate some of the fears of the legend he so admired.

Despite it being impossible for anyone to hear, he whispered it.  
"Have you ever... been with another man?"

Okita seemed taken aback by the tone, as he paused and thought about what he said.  
"You mean like shudo? I have."  
"Yes, but not in the way we– wait. You too?"

The two grew silent, still hearing Goemon XIII's sniffles echo in the background.

Goemon the first cleared his throat.  
"Well, my grandson over there is torn up over a potential lover. Someone who he has feelings for but doesn't think will love him back."  
"And this person is another man?"  
"Yes."

"Then." Okita adjusted himself, the blue flame mimicking his silhouette.  
"Pardon my tone but, what's the problem?"

"That's just it. Sort of. It's true Japan and many parts of the world don't look fondly on such practice after our era ended–"  
"Such a shame."  
"–But it's gotten much, much better in the time we've been away. I mean it's the 21st century, now–! It's not like he has to tell the whole world if he doesn't want to."

"Is he afraid of how others will view him, or does he think this person doesn't return his feelings?"  
"That's just it. I don't know."

Now, the subject of their conversation seemed to collect himself, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and sitting cross-legged. He seemed to be meditating, breathing deep and taking in the late-summer air. When he was finished, he knelt once more and prayed to his grandfather.

_I'm sorry for showing such weakness._

"See, and now he's apologizing for crying! I just don't understand the boy– He always comes and agonizes over his training or what he's not doing right for legacy. He's friends with one of the greatest thieves in the world! He's a gifted swordsman, he's got good-looks... why can't he just be happy?!"

Okita chuckled into his sleeve.

"I'm sorry, it's just..." The blue light burned brightly, now a brighter cyan at the edges. "I can see your frustration. You clearly care about him."

"I do."

It was true at first, that the spirit of Goemon the first cared a great deal about his legacy. He hated how the world remembered him more for his death than the deeds of his life. For a while, he took no interest in the lives of his grandchildren, even the ones who shared his name. But there was one life in particular that changed things– when the thirteenth was just a little boy.

He was a black cat, born of litter in a cardboard box and left in front of a general store. This was in Japan, in the same prefecture and area as the young Ishikawa. Perhaps it was by some gift of karma that he had been born there, but he did not know that at the time.  
One day, after he gained the ability to see and found many of his siblings gone– he peered up to see a boy looking down at him with a curious face. He was startled, but still purred at the tiny, soft hand that petted him, rubbing over his ears and softly saying "neko." like it was his name.  
The boy picked him up and snuggled him in his kimono shirt– buying candy from the man in the store before he went home. He named him Poki.

From then on, they were very close. He loved that little boy so much. He always smiled at him and exclaimed "Poki!" when they saw each other. When he grew into a bigger cat, the boy still took glee in playing with him, shaking a reed and watching as he chased it. He didn't get cross or angry when he brought mice to the front door, either. Or even when he got fur on his clothes.  
Even as the boy drew into himself, leaving for long periods of time on training (Which he didn't know at the time). He still treated him with a kind of loving-kindness one saves for their family. They lived a great time together– as did he spend, wandering the woods around that family home.

But it was too short. He grew old, very old– much quicker than the boy did, and when the boy was just starting his adolescence– he died. He couldn't recall how, but he had gotten sick. He was tired. He found a gap in the stone wall to curl up in. It was like going to sleep.

He didn't remember anything after that. But even then he found the sound of his grandson's crying was very, very familiar somehow. He feels as though in that brief time as his soul left, he saw the boy cradle him in his arms.

That boy, as he didn't realize until he was on the way to his next lifetime– was Goemon XIII. The wheels of time had been kind enough to bring him into his life for a short time, and in it– he realized that he did not just want his successors to carry themselves with honor. He wanted them to be happy, to be able to live unshackled from the things that once troubled him in his life.  
He wanted that for him more than anyone else.

Done reminiscing, the purple spirit of Goemon the first flickered and stood up. The blue spirit followed, feeling their time in this realm was nearing its end.

"I'm sure he'll figure something out," Okita remarked, watching the now red-eyed samurai stand up and lose his balance for a second, head dizzy from the crying.

He hummed in agreement.  
"I hope so. Though maybe..."

The purple flame floated, bouncing slightly as it moved over the rocks and trees before them to the foot of the altar. Still watching, his grandson seemed prepared to go– Laying out an offering of onigiri rice.  
For a moment, Goemon XIII was wrapped in purple light. Now a warm magenta, he looked up and around as he felt a kind of peace wash over him.

He smiled. The spirit of Goemon the first didn't say much before it disappeared– aside from a quiet "thank you" that caught on the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thank you for reading. I probably didn't proofread this as much as I should, but I was just so electrified with the premise.
> 
> It started out as just an idea I had on twitter for a jigoe fic, but as I wrote it evolved into being something about how Goemon the first views his great great great... you get it, grandson.
> 
> I should clarify that when OG goemon says "shudo" he's talking about the more general practice of male-male love, and not any kind of pederastic relationship that went on in that time. I tried to strike a balance in this where the two seemed informed about gay relationships to a reasonable extent.


End file.
